Poem of the Month
Ward Calls

By Deena Kara Shaffer

Published on March 1, 2014

First, post-diagnosis apology.
Next, a trained volunteer’s called in
to make the lonely wait less so.
Then, the oncologist comes armed
with a social worker, to talk it out, softly.

Noxity, necrosity, one node at a time,
less pink, less supple, less discrete:
the disease drone on a roll.

Near the end, calls out for the commode,
and a PSW to wipe;
Yelping Lactulose! for narcotic’s bind, Ativan for the fear.
Last, Haldol, for the verge,
and a priest to sing you there.

More Poetry

On Finding a Copy of “Pigeon” in the Hospital Bookstore

I prowled up and down the rows of the hospital bookstore with a fevered intensity; “fevered” because it was a hospital, “intensity” because I was perplexed by the mysteriously ruptured tendon in the middle finger of my right hand

Versailles bus stop

I loved my colleagues and their playful putdowns. I loved the way they paid attention to clothes — as if they never considered how their tunics and smart pantsuits looked like upholstery.

Hermit Crab

Regardless of what you’ve been told, I moved in because I didn’t want to hear the ocean anymore, the slosh of ...